


Moth

by guanoo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Calm Before The Storm, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-05 03:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6687031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guanoo/pseuds/guanoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[6.06, <span class="u">You Can't Handle the Truth</span>]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moth

**Author's Note:**

> Set during 6.06, You Can't Handle the Truth—The night before Dean finds out that Sam has no soul

It was late when they finally returned from the studio. Dean kicked his boots off, stripping indiscriminately, and dropped into bed. Nobody bothered to flick on a light. He just hoped they'd close this case tomorrow. Whole thing gave him the creeps. 

At least he felt better about Sam. 

 

Dean woke up drenched and panting. For a horrible moment he was frozen in place, hearing Sam's voice, spiked with panic, but seeing only the wall. He tried to thrash, kicking out against whatever invisible force was holding him, but nothing moved. Sam cried out for him again and he could only lie there, paralyzed. A tear rolled down his cheek.

Eventually, he eased into awareness. As his eyes blinked open he realized that the echo of his own name sounded tinny and foreign in his ears. 

Another nightmare, then.

He rolled onto his back, kicking the covers away, shivering as a cold breeze fluttered over his bare skin. He could hear the sounds of a highway in the distance, less muffled, like Sam had left the window open again. Felt nice, though his skin was still damp from the dream. He sighed, shut his eyes, and threw his arms over his head, gathering the pillow into a lumpy ring around his ears. Bent his knees and rolled his hips. Let go the pillow and dragged his hands down his body. His stomach pricked with gooseflesh under his fingers. Nipples hardened under feathery light touch. He dipped his fingers into his shorts, eased them down, tangling his ankles through them so he felt tied up. Breath came faster. 

He shuddered at a sudden rush of night— _that voice again, but only in his mind_ —and glanced over at Sam's bed. 

To his surprise, Sam was awake, half-illuminated and staring at the ceiling, jaw clenched tight. He lay on top of undisturbed blankets, and his bare sides shone with a faint sheen of sweat despite the chill. 

Dean rolled over to face him, reminding himself that it really was his brother, and that, apparently, really good things really do happen, sort of. Sam mirrored him. As he turned, Dean caught the silhouette of a wicked member curving up between chiseled hips, and then Sam faced him, dark save for the long line of his body, backlit against the window. 

"You're really Sam," Dean said abstractly, then blinked at the obviousness of his own statement.

Sam nodded. Dean couldn't tell through the shadows, but he imagined Sam, smiling a little, holding eye contact. Dean blinked again, but he couldn't look away, even knowing the light revealed his own expression.

A jolt of arousal shot through him, sudden and unexpected. He wrinkled his forhead, twisting away, tilting his hips. Attempted to subtly palm his erection. Then, realizing his ankles were tied and his ass was exposed, he froze. 

"Need some help?" Sam asked.

Dean shut his eyes as another irrational wave of arousal hit him, causing his back to arch. Knowing he couldn't fight it forever, he nodded, keeping his eyes closed, not certain his brother could see him. Sam came over silently, but Dean felt the brush of air as Sam pulled the blankets away from his ass. With a soft laugh, he freed Dean's ankles from their self-imposed bonds, and Dean lay naked.  

He missed Lisa, but was oddly okay with how his brother wasted no time, grabbing lube— _suspiciously stashed in the bedside table_ —turning Dean over and knocking his legs apart, lifting his hips. Wet drizzled over his hole and a slick cock ran through the mess a few times before thrusting into him smoothly. 

The ease of it unnerved him—like his body offered no resistance, even as the fullness stole his breath away. So he reached a warning hand behind him and stilled Sam's hips until he'd adjusted to the intrusion. As soon as he'd been released, Sam pushed home, and Dean swore loudly. 

Something in the air felt off, like when Sam had ESP, only colder, almost indifferent. Dean told himself that he was imagining things—he could feel Sam's heat inside, burrowing under his skin, and Sam's hands on his body comforted something that had ached with loneliness in his absence. 

And damn, Sam had stamina. He'd never been so relentless before, always concerned about Dean, saying they had to stop... Never did it more than twice in one night. Now Sam fucked him three times with hardly a breather in between, Dean spreading his legs and Sam rocking his muscular hips, pushing his hardness deep inside him. It was rough and fast at first, but then slowed to a maddening pace that had Dean coming untouched. Sam was a bit forceful, and the hair on the back of Dean's neck stood up a little the third time when he grunted "slow down" and Sam didn't, but then Sam held him, powerful and distant, muscles gleaming with sweat, looking deep into Dean's eyes, and Dean was drawn to his calm, his tranquil fluidity, the deftness of his motions.

Like a moth, which flies inexorably towards its own demise. 

 _Something still isn't right, but we'll get there,_ he reassured himself. _You know, re-bond, or whatever. Coming back from Hell ain't no walk in the park._

 

The light was cold and blue—it was nearly dawn but not quite. Sam's big hands caressed him in that chilly half-light, and Dean absently ran his fingers through Sam's hair and down his shoulders, pausing at the groove between his deltoids and biceps, thinking. Sam had shot three loads inside him. He was both humiliated and oddly turned on by the slick feeling in his ass crack, the dull ache, deeper.

He gave Sam a half smile. "Damn," he said softly. Sam pushed up on his elbows and kissed Dean's mouth, sucking each lip slowly before gazing steadily into his eyes. Dean felt arousal stirring again, somewhere in his lower abdomen. "I could get used to this," he murmured against Sam's lips.

"Good," Sam replied. "Get used to it." Dean was sore but Sam's thickness pressed against his ass again, spreading cum from the previous three loads between his ass cheeks, then thrusting. Dean gasped at the immediacy of it. Strong fingers spread his legs wider, pushing them back so his thighs were against his chest. Dean grabbed fistfuls of hair and pulled Sam heavy on top of him, intimately close.

 

An odd aftershock ran through Dean's upper legs. The muscles spasmed a little, causing him to squeeze his thighs against Sam's hips.

"You liked that," Sam whispered against his cheek, kissing his mouth. It was a statement, not a question. 

 


End file.
